


Letters from Ronon

by ravensilverwing



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensilverwing/pseuds/ravensilverwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kate Heightmeyer requests that Ronon keep a diary a part of his adjustment to Atlantis life, this is what she gets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters from Ronon

Day One.

Your language is clunky? Unwieldy? Limited? Whatever. It’s nothing like Satedan. Our words are better but the translator doesn’t help much beyond the basics. At least in translating Satedan to whatever languages you’re speaking. Radek’s pretty funny and his language isn’t half as limited. But your tech’s all set up in one language. The limited one. So I’m kind of stuck. Stuck writing stupid letters for stupid reasons because a stupid ‘head shrink’? says I have too. Because apparently I don’t express myself well enough. You all understand. That’s expressive enough. At least on Sateda no one told you, at least outside the military, which makes sense. Everyone has to get the same meaning from the orders or they don’t work well together. And the task masters have to get the same meaning from our reports or they have no idea what’s really going on. So military makes sense.

This, this stupid talk more, write more, don’t just grunt. This, this makes no sense. Waste of time I could spend sparring, training those new soldiers to spar. Not that useless weapons training they do wherever they come from. That useless training that makes them think they know what they’re doing and gets them killed, picked off by wraith, one by one. Every time they go through the ring. Or am I supposed to say Stargate? My galaxy, my words. Ancestors Ring.

Day Two.

Apparently two paragraphs and writing about military are a good effort. But not enough. And I can use whatever damn words I want.

I have no idea what to write.

Day Three.

Write about home? Sateda? Why the hell would I want to write about Sateda? Sateda is gone. The wraith destroyed it. There’s no one left. Except the people left scattered over the planets. Not enough to be called Satedan’s anymore. More, damnit is there even a word that comes close in this stupid language?

Home is here. For now.

Day Four.

Sheppard thinks this is a stupid idea too. That wincing look, quick exit. Like to see him forced to do this. He talks more than I do, but not like it matters? Means much? Maybe they don’t expect him to talk much.

Day Five.

Day Six.

Day Seven.

Day Eight.

So Sheppard doesn’t need practice in how to speak. And I do. Seven years as a Runner and I need practice. This isn’t speaking. But I get the idea, concept. All I’ve thought for seven years is hunt, kill, run, hide, fight. The City, these people need more than that. McKay would have filled her file by now. McKay being able to do that doesn’t count. He knows more words and how to talk better than anyone I’ve ever met.

So I should write about the last mission. No Wraith. No hunting. No killing. No running. No people. Nice... there’s nothing close to a sasquan in the computer, but Sheppard called it a lizard-cow. Big rear legs, that’s where most the meat is, shorter front legs, mean claws that’ll rip through skin and muscle if you get too close. Easiest to kill from behind. Don’t ever eat the tail. Make a man sick for days, think he’s drowning. He’ll stop drinking. Dehydrate. Eventually die.

Day Nine.

Write about what I know? I know this is annoying and frustrating and I wish I didn’t have to do it. Write about weapons training with a task master who was one of the best Sateda had ever seen and who threw us all at the Wraith just so he could turn and run like a trilak. Coward. Not a true Satedan. Write about the weapon I carry and how I made it, keep it working. Maybe I could teach Sheppard how to make one, he’s been eyeing off this one. But I don’t think they have the right parts here. Nothing I’ve seen remotely resembles the parts required to make another. Pity. I miss the other one I had back in the beginning. Maybe McKay could make him something similar but I’m sure he’d have to take this one apart to do it. And he’s not taking this one apart.

Day Ten.

New planet. Another mission. Nice people with good beer. Plenty of food. Teyla negotiating for a steady trade. Sheppard and McKay staring at the dark brown, almost black fruit like it’s not safe to eat. Guess they have nothing like it on Earth. More for me.

Day Eleven.

How can I describe something that I have no words and no comparisons you’ll understand? Describe it anyway? Firm like quintak. Round like trow. Sweet like lynch and slick like anta. I haven’t tasted trow in seven years.

Day Twelve.

 Day Thirteen.

Day Fourteen.

Day Fifteen.

Sheppard’s in the infirmary. His leg’ll heal. Only a simple break. Told him not to try hunting neelak. They’re faster than they look and get nasty when cornered. Not worth hunting. Guess Sheppard’s figured that out now. Not that good to eat either. Meat too sour. They eat too much quigon. Why McKay snorted and Sheppard snickered at the name of the purple fruit I’ve no idea.

Day Sixteen.

Sheppard’s still in the infirmary. No missions till he’s better. Stuck here. McKay keeps bugging me to watch something he brought with him from Earth. Keeps smirking when he offers. Not sure I want to see it.

Day Seventeen.

McKay tried to shove a disc into my hand over breakfast. Still not sure I want to know what’s on it. Sheppard thinks I should watch it with him. How bad can it be? I’ll wait till he’s out of the infirmary, he’s going to get bored within a day. Last time I broke a bone was three months before I came here. Had to shoot left handed. Made it harder to hunt, slowed me down.

Day Eighteen.

Wouldn’t mind a lightsabre. Maybe McKay could make one. Sheppard and McKay have a bazaar sense of humour. Then again Dex means a large herd of...pigs. But we didn’t call them pigs.

Day Nineteen.

Teyla almost took my head off with her sticks this morning. I’ve been dreaming about Sateda. Wish I’d been able to find a triple shot hand canon. They’re probably still there. Laying hidden in the bunkers we never made it too. Cut off by Wraith beams and ground drones. There might be another pistol or two laying around. They couldn’t have destroyed everything. But they’ve destroyed everything that matters.

Day Twenty.

McKay doesn’t have time to build a lightsabre. He doesn’t have enough time to do a fifth of the things he wants to do and a tenth of the things he needs to do. But he stopped long enough to consider it. If he ever has the time Teyla wants one too.


End file.
